


Carpel Tunnel Syndrome

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castle has a bit of a problem… and Beckett's determined to find out what's causing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carpel Tunnel Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally published on fanfiction.net in early 2012 when I was seventeen, and is a part of my project to crosspost all of my work to Ao3. I hope that you all enjoy and ignore my seventeen-year-old self's hearty suspension of disbelief.

Writing?

No, that wouldn't fly. Everyone knew that he typed. You don't get wrist pains from typing. If he'd used a pen, yes, but even then…

Hmmm. Tennis?

Oh man, no. He hated tennis. Even Lanie knew he hated tennis.

Laser tag?

Nope. Beckett would want to know how that had happened, being a gun expert and all, and he'd never be able to think up a plausible scenario that would lead to wrist pain.

Castle rotated his right hand, trying not to let Beckett, sitting at her desk, see him. She was staring at a case file while running her right hand lazily over the tiny elephants marching along her desk. Her index finger was trailing along the tops, gently stroking…

Okay, no. Down boy. That's what got him into this situation in the first place--thinking about Beckett in an erotic fashion. Or, actually, thinking about Beckett at all. It would probably be best if he avoided having any thoughts about Beckett whatsoever. This, of course, was easier said than done.

Seriously, the woman was a goddess in three-inch boots.

Boots…

Nope, no, uh-uh, not going there.

Already there.

Castle thumped the desk in exasperation. He was the first one to admit that his mind took frequent trips down to the gutter, but this was getting ridiculous. Sure, he hadn't had sex in… what, a year? And, true, it would be difficult for any man, even an experienced one, to contain themselves around the sexiest homicide detective in NYC. But really, this was juvenile and ridiculous and just plain embarrassing…

"Castle?"

Beckett was staring at him with a mixture of concern and amusement on her face. "Castle, why are you rubbing your wrist like that?"

He was so busted.

"What? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking. Sometimes, after typing for a while, my wrist gets a little sore so I, uh, rub it while I'm thinking about what to type next." Castle tried to act natural, but his paper-thin explanation was not going to fly with a seasoned interrogator.

"Really, Castle? Your wrist gets sore from typing? You rub it while you think?" Beckett was both amused and appalled that he would try to lie to her, or that he thought he could possibly get away with lying to her. "Castle, I've known you for four years. I have never seen you rub your wrist like that except for just now… and, I think, yesterday when you thought I wasn't looking."

He was more than busted--he was in deep, deep trouble.

"So let's try this again. Castle, why are you rubbing your wrist like that?" Beckett gave him her don't-try-anything glare.

"Let's just say I've been engaging in a… unusually strenuous activity over the past few--recently. And, said strenuous activity is making my wrist a little sore the past few days." Castle desperately prayed Beckett wouldn't figure it out.

Beckett's curiosity was peaked. There was something going on, something Castle was doing, that he didn't want her to know about. Besides, he was clearly doing something that was physically dangerous for him--it was only natural that, as his friend and partner, she made sure he was okay.

Ugh, that explanation was pathetic even in her mind.

She was insanely curious about what he was doing and why he was lying to her, okay? She was nosy and interested and wanted to know absolutely everything that was going on in Rick Castle's life, all right? It's not like she was, you know, in love with him or anything like that. She just wanted to know about his personal life.

That's all, really.

Ugh. She was worse than pathetic.

Beckett watched as Castle's face struggled to hold an expression other than sheepish or panicked. Oh, yes, he was hiding something; something that he felt guilty about. Beckett grinned inwardly. This was going to be fun.

Before she could interrogate him further, however, Esposito arrived with the financial records of their victim. Beckett scowled at him while Castle positively beamed.

"What've you got, Espo?" Beckett practically growled the words.

"Esposito, what's up?" Castle couldn't have been more pleased.

"Okay…" He had no idea what had happened to make Mom and Dad be such polar opposites, but he was going to stay out of it. "We ran the vic's financials. Everything was in the clear except for one thing."

He handed them the paper with the information. "There was a bank account set up in his name, with his information, but he never accessed the account. We checked with the bank and the vic didn't set up the account, and never showed up to take care of it."

"So someone set it up and used it in his name?" Castle asked.

"Did our vic know about this?" Beckett asked as she scanned the papers Esposito had given her.

"We're not sure. We've got the bank employees down here now. Ryan's trying to get an I.D. on the person who used the account, so we can show it to the vic's family. Maybe one of his kids used it or something."

"Let me know once you get a description of the person – Castle and I will take it down to show to the family," Beckett ordered, passing the papers over to Castle to peruse. "Thanks, Espo."

"No problem." Esposito shot both Beckett and Castle a questioning look, but neither of them met his eyes. Beckett pretended to be absorbed in her computer while Castle stared blankly at the papers in his lap, his lack of eye movement betraying the fact that he wasn't reading a word.

Figuring they'd just had another spat over something, Esposito hurried to rejoin his partner. He couldn't wait to tell Ryan about the latest tension between the author and the detective.

* * *

It had been a long day. Between interviewing the grief-stricken family (again), chasing down the mystery person who'd set up the bank account, reporting everything to Gates and dealing with a detective who could only talk about how happy married life was (*cough* Ryan *cough*), Beckett wanted nothing more than to collapse onto her couch and have a _Temptation_ _Lane_ marathon.

That was why she was currently sneaking into Castle's place.

If  _she_  was tired, then Castle would undoubtedly be exhausted. And if he was exhausted, he would more readily slip up and reveal why his wrist was bugging him, especially if he was at home, where he would be more relaxed and off-guard.

Beckett felt a little like a Peeping Tom and a lot like a tiger stalking an unwitting kudu but she wanted answers, and when Kate Beckett wanted answers, she damn well got them--especially where a certain damn annoying ruggedly handsome writer was concerned.

She didn't have a key to Castle's apartment, so she picked the lock. In his defense, Castle had tried to give her a key when he'd gone on a week-long book tour in Washington D.C. around Christmas, taking Martha and Alexis with him. She'd refused, saying she was sure his plants would be fine.

She had then spent the week breaking into his apartment and watering his plants.

And, yes, she'd justified it with the pathetic excuse that if he was ever in danger and she needed to get in, she'd know how to pick his lock. Her record was thirteen seconds.

What? You need to know how to protect your partner, no matter what the situation.

After knocking and receiving no answer, Beckett whipped out her tools and undid the lock, beating her record by unlocking it in nine seconds. Hey, maybe there was a kitchen fire and Castle was passed out.

If a policeman had materialized in the hallway and begun questioning her, Beckett would have sworn that she heard cries for help inside. Yup, she did. Maybe it was the plants crying out for water?

Okay, yeah, she had reached a new level of pathetic. Ah, the things she sunk to for love.

Beckett entered the spacious loft, surprised to find that it was empty. "Castle?"

There was no answer.

"Alexis? Martha?" Beckett was beginning to worry. Castle hadn't said anything about going out tonight--in fact, he'd emphasized that he was going right home after they'd wrapped up at the precinct.

Chills raced up Beckett's spine as her treacherous brain began to fantasize about all the horrible things that could have happened to him. If any fucking bastard touched him, she was going to rip their fucking guts out and…

A groan disturbed her train of thought and Beckett whirled, heading towards Castle's bedroom. She'd never been in there before (although she'd fantasized about it plenty of times) and she was pleasantly surprised at how much she liked the décor.

The bedroom was empty, and Beckett thought that maybe she'd been imagining things. She was just overreacting--maybe Castle had treated his mother and daughter to dinner out or a movie or something…

The framed pictures on the dark walnut bookshelf caught her eye, and Beckett examined them carefully. There was one of Castle holding a baby Alexis at the hospital. The love shining out from his face as he smiled at his baby girl made her heart clench. There was another of Castle with Martha, and one of him at his first book signing. Another was Castle with Ryan, Esposito, Lanie, Montgomery and herself, standing in the precinct and smiling. Beckett remembered that day--Alexis had snapped the picture, issuing instructions about who should stand where and how. The girl had placed Beckett right next to Castle and told him to put his arm around her. They'd played along, pretending they didn't know what Alexis was up to.

And then there was another one, in a simple yet elegant silver frame, just above Beckett's eye level. She took it down to get a closer look and realized that if she were lying down on the bed, looking up at the bookcase, it would be exactly in her line of sight. Her breath caught and stilled in her throat when she realized what the picture showed.

It was of her and Castle, standing, coffee cups in hand, staring into each other's eyes. She wasn't sure but she guessed they were at her desk or in front of the murder board. They were sharing a look that was positively electric, and Beckett understood what the boys talked about when they said she and Castle had "eye sex."

Speaking of the boys, Beckett had a sneaking suspicion it had been one of them who'd taken the picture. Most likely Esposito--Ryan was rarely that daring. Whoever it was must have shown it to Castle, and he'd printed it and framed it, right where he could see it as he drifted off to sleep at night…

She was not going to cry. No way. Detective Kate Beckett did  _not_  cry at a stupid sentimental act her hopelessly dopey and romantic partner had thought up. Her eyes might have misted up just a little but she did  _not_  cry.

She definitely didn't stroke the picture lovingly for a few minutes… and she most certainly did not hold it to her chest and look over at the bed. No way, not at all.

But then another sound broke the silence, and this time Beckett heard that it was coming from the master bathroom. If the master bathroom was anything like the guest bedroom she'd borrowed after that bomb had destroyed her apartment, then it would have an insanely large bathtub and matching tiles all over the place.

Beckett didn't get the chance to really examine the bathroom's design, however, because when she opened the door the sight that met her eyes pretty much held her complete attention.

Castle was… he was…

Well, this certainly explained his wrist hurting.

Beckett was not much into voyeurism. She liked to be hands on and participate--and she was quite good at participating, thankyouverymuch--but she had to admit that this was a bit of a turn on.

Particularly because it was  _her_  name Castle was moaning.

Torn between backing out and interrupting, Beckett stood, frozen, watching the, uh, grand finale. Castle was starting to clean up when he caught sight of her out of his peripheral vision and froze, turning slowly.

She was so busted.

* * *

 

He was definitely busted.

They stared at each other for a good long moment, both of them unable to think of anything to say. Beckett looked rather like she couldn't decide if she should tease him or slap him, and Castle's face was such a burning red that eggs would fry on his face.

"Beckett?" Castle finally managed to squeak out. Yeah, that's right, smooth move on the voice breaking there, Rick. Way to sound like a twelve-year-old.

Clearing her throat, Beckett attempted to make sound come out. Her vocal chords failed her, so she tried again. "I, uh, I was coming to talk to you…"

Something clicked for Castle, because he planted his hands on his hips accusingly. "How did you get into my apartment?" He asked.

Beckett's face color now matched Castle's, both of them sporting a rather becoming shade of scarlet. "I picked the lock." Her voice was embarrassingly raw.

"You  _picked my lock_?" Castle's eyes gleamed. "That's very hot, Detective, but I do recall offering you a key and you refusing rather rudely…"

Beckett closed her eyes, wishing for patience, a chance to get over her embarrassment and hey, why not a hot-pink colored pony while she was at it?

Figuring it was best to just admit the truth and get the painful process over with as soon as possible, Beckett's next words came racing out of her at breakneck speed. "I came over to talk to you and find out why your wrist was hurting." She gestured lamely at Castle. "I, um, guess I found out."

Castle's jaw dropped.

And here he thought he couldn't be more humiliated… wait, what?

"You came over here to interrogate me?" He wasn't sure whether to laugh or be appalled.

"You tried to lie to me! It's fair game," Beckett argued staunchly.

"Geez, Beckett, you think I'd just lie to you for no good reason? I'm pretty sure you would have either laughed me out of the precinct or passed out from humiliation if I told you the real reason."

Beckett had to admit the insufferable man had a very good point, and in more ways than one… Oh, no, no, she was  _not_  going to let her thoughts stray down that path!

Too late.

Fine, all right, Richard Castle was very well-endowed and the sight of him standing there was the hottest thing she'd ever seen, all right? Happy, now?

Clenching her thighs and trying to ignore her body, which was threatening to betray her at any minute, Beckett focused on the task at hand.

Okay, poor choice of words.

"I'm just going to go, uh, sit in the living room and let you… finish up…" Another poor choice of words. There was just no escaping this sand trap, was there?

Castle had gone back to being embarrassed again, his cheeks bypassing red and going straight for maroon. "Yeah, I'll do that--I should be out in just a minute… I won't, um, take long…" Man, Rick, you just had to say it like that, didn't you?

Beckett chose to ignore his faux pas and attempted to exit the room with dignity, doing her best not to run. She made her way back to the living room and sat gingerly on the couch, trying to process everything.

She knew that Castle loved her. PTSD hadn't affected her memory, and she remembered everything, for good or ill. Even before his confession at Montgomery's grave she'd suspected what his true feelings were, and she'd known he was attracted to her from the beginning. But believing was one thing, and seeing was another.

Things would never be the same between them, would they?

Beckett felt like crying. She'd been doing so well, making progress with her therapist, becoming bolder and more open with her emotions, and now this.

Unless…

This didn't have to make things worse, not if she didn't let it. This, if played right, could be an opportunity.

Beckett was anything but shy in bed. When it came to relationships she ran like hell but the physical side of things was always easy and fun. She'd tried a good few things in her time, and she was considered quite the expert (so there). She'd done kinkier things then walk in on someone. She could handle this.

Taking a steadying breath, Beckett stood up from the couch and made her way back to Castle's bedroom.

* * *

If he hadn't been so damn humiliated, Castle would have been panicking over how much trouble he was in with Beckett. If she didn't kick him out of her life permanently, she would at least give him a verbal thrashing and set him firmly in the doghouse for a week or two.

Fuck, how had he messed this up so badly?

When he'd discovered that Mother had roped Alexis into helping her out at her acting school for the evening, he had seized the opportunity to spend the evening relaxing and to detox from the harrowing work day. Unfortunately, he'd been musing over the still-unsolved case and thinking about the case had made him think of Beckett… his thoughts had taken a dirty turn and, well, he'd been addressing the situation when Beckett had walked in on him.

Could he honestly have worse luck?

He hadn't failed to miss the implications of Beckett breaking into his apartment and coming to look for him when she didn't find him elsewhere. Clearly, he'd been too… absorbed in his task… to hear her, and he could only be grateful it hadn't been Alexis walking in on him. His mother he could deal with, but Alexis? Uh, yeah, why don't you just shoot him right now, spare him the misery?

All of his senses were on high alert, so Castle heard the soft footstep just outside the bedroom door. He turned just in time to see Beckett enter the room. The look on her face was fragile but determined. She looked almost scared, and his heart went out to her. What did she have to be scared about? Embarrassed? Sure. Angry? Most definitely. But scared?

Striding across the room like she was about to storm a castle--and now you're stooping to bad puns, Rick?--Beckett slipped her hands around his neck and pulled him to her, kissing him for all she was worth. Her hot, luscious lips pressed against his mouth, almost forcing it open. Her tongue speared in, engaging his in a timeless tango, and Castle instinctively responded.

He'd only had time to tie a towel around his waist, and the feel of his bare chest pressed against her was almost more than either of them could stand. Beckett broke off the kiss and trailed her tongue up to his ear. She was risking it all now, giving in and admitting the truth.

"If it had been my apartment, it would have been the same situation," she whispered in his ear. "Only I would have been saying your name."

There was no room to talk after that.

Buttons went flying as clothes were rapidly disposed of--well, mostly her clothes, as Castle was only clad in that ridiculously soft and fluffy towel (Beckett only stopped him from explaining just how nice those towels were by grinding against him)--and before either of them had a moment to think they were on the bed.

Castle was pressed on top of her, his mouth alternating between licks and nips along her neck, almost certainly giving her a hickey or two… or three… or a dozen… Beckett was not about to let him get away with that. Honestly, she enjoyed it but she didn't want to be the only one writhing in pleasure.

Hooking her ankle around his leg, she flipped him easily, pinning him beneath her. She sensed he was about to make a smart comment so she dove for him again, distracting him with a kiss. Slipping her hand between them she stroked him, slowly and deliberately, running her fingers over him almost like she'd drag them over a pool cue.

Castle sucked in a breath, grabbing her wrist just a little harder then he normally would. "Not this time." He was surprised at how close to a growl his voice sounded. "I need to be inside you."

Those words turned Beckett on like nothing else.

Sitting up, Beckett straddled him and slowly sank down, enveloping him inside of her. The glorious sight of Beckett, in all her natural glory (God really pulled out all the stops when He made her, Castle decides), almost made him lose it then and there. She grinned at him appreciatively, and he knew that his thoughts are written all over his face.

He didn't care.

Castle's had some pretty explicit and absolutely filthy dreams (and daydreams) about Beckett, but this just blew them all away. She's hot and tight around him, and the way she moved above him made him nearly lose all control.

Fortunately, Castle also prided himself on being a gentleman--at least in behavior--and he wasn't going to let this end early or without Beckett getting her fair share. Pulling her to him, he nipped at her ear while sliding a hand between them, mimicking her actions from just a minute ago, to play with her clit.

Beckett rolled her hips, eliciting a groan from Castle. She wanted to see how many ways she could make him groan like that, but right now she was panting and making little whimper-moan noises because  _how the fuck did he get that good at this?_

They were no longer human, no longer flesh and blood; they were practically liquid, melding together and melting together and moving together in a way that defied nature. Every touch, from the cool feel of breath ghosting over skin to the firm grip of a hand, was amazing. They were twice as sensitive, their nerves raw and sending such euphoric jolts of electricity that just straddled the line of too much. Tasting, teasing, touching everywhere, they drove each other and themselves over the brink with the force of a hurricane. After denying themselves, denying everything for so many stupid reasons for so long, they were beyond all reason or patience.

She would later deny it, and start a five minute good-natured argument over it, but Beckett screamed. She shouted Castle's name--first and last--so loudly that he was pretty sure the neighbors in the apartment below them had heard her. Of course, he didn't help as he was quite vocal himself (and, really, he was so talkative during everything else, why should this be any different).

When their hunger for one another was finally sated, when their limbs had turned to jelly and their hearts were racing faster than Secretariat at the Kentucky Derby, they collapsed on one another in the bed. For a few minutes (or maybe it was a few hours?) neither moved. They were absolutely exhausted and besides, the feel of their bodies pressed together, of their sweat and perfume and natural body scent mingling, was as heady and intoxicating as any wine.

"God, I love you."

It was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he squeezed his eyes shut, terrified to see the look on her face.

Beckett raised her head slowly, pushing her damp hair away from her face. "I know," she whispered quietly. She swallowed hard, watching as Castle opened his eyes and stared at her.

"You… you…" Hurt and joy warred on his face, and Beckett didn't fail to see the fear hidden in there as well.

"I love you too," she said quickly, trying to get it out before his anger or her fear took over and ruined everything. She had him now, her one and done, and she couldn't let the one beautiful thing in her life shatter around her. Not this time.

That did it. Castle's face broke into a huge grin, because while he might still be hurt that she'd lied to him, the feeling paled in comparison to the knowledge that she wasn't lying to him anymore. She was opening herself up, she was being honest with him; she was joining him in breaking down those walls.

He pulled her to him and kissed her, slowly and reverently, his thumb stroking her cheek. Castle never wanted this to end. He never wanted to leave this moment, to move from this spot. He wanted to spend eternity here, just like this. Forget golden harps and bouncing around on fluffy pink clouds--this was heaven.

* * *

When Beckett awoke, she had a moment of fear at being in an unfamiliar place. Her pillow was unusually large, and firm, and strangely shaped and… it was moving?

Blinking, she shifted slightly and felt a large hand at her waist pull her closer. At that, her memory returned and last night flooded back to her, tinged with a golden glow in her mind. Beckett gazed at the sleeping form of Castle, currently filling the position of both pillow and blanket for her. She decided that being wrapped up in his arms was the closest thing to perfection she'd ever experienced.

Slowly, she became aware that nature was calling, and she spent the next two minutes trying to carefully disengage herself from Castle. It wasn't easy, as their legs were tangled and their arms were wrapped around each other, but she managed it.

Beckett had never been so thankful for her police self-defense training. Who knew?

Having dealt with her biological urges, Beckett was going to head back to bed to give Castle an early wake-up call when she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Oh, no.

Oh  _shit_.

Not one, not two, but  _seven_  hickeys paraded across her neck like spots on a Dalmatian. Beckett spent one minute staring into the mirror, almost unable to comprehend the signals her eyes were sending her brain. She then spent two minutes examining the affected area carefully, and another minute and a half fretting about it.

She was so absorbed in her examination that she didn't realize Castle was there until two big, strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him. Well, him and the semi-erect Rick Jr.

"Miss me?" Beckett murmured as Castle planted a few openmouthed kisses to her neck.

"Mmm… I don't recall giving you permission to leave my bed, Miss Beckett," he murmured lazily, his mouth caressing the spot just behind her ear.

"I don't need permission to do anything, but while we're at it I don't exactly remember giving you permission to make me look like Patch," Beckett said, drawing his attention to her neck.

Castle's grin split his face almost in half, it was so large. "Patch? As in, 101 Dalmatians? I didn't know you had the ability to make cultural references, never mind Disney ones."

"I'm full of surprises, Rick. You should know that by now." Beckett ground against him suggestively. Castle's eyes darkened with arousal.

"You do know that between my hand and your neck, everyone's going to know what's up," he began, "So we might as well just…"

Beckett cut him off. "Don't even think about it. The last thing we need is Gates kicking you out for 'compromising work relationships'."

"So I can't kiss you in the Precinct?" Castle's voice was dangerously close to a whine.

"No…" Beckett struggled to keep the naughty smirk off her face. "But there's a wonderfully roomy storage closet right next to the back stairway…"

"That's it," Castle growled.

Sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her back to bed before Beckett could do more than laugh.


End file.
